


Theoretically...

by nightfalltwen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23561764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfalltwen/pseuds/nightfalltwen
Summary: Hermione turns 30 and a one-off leads to something that she theoretically wasn't expecting...
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 27
Kudos: 220





	Theoretically...

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2020 HP_Bunintheoven mini fest over at Livejournal.
> 
> Thank you **LilithShade** for your prompt, though I don't think not having a husband at 30 is really all that bad, personally. ;) hehe. Might not be as much pregnancy focused as I would like, but the characters were being delightfully stubborn the whole way. Thank you for looking it over, **cryptaknight**. Always my champion.

❦❦❦❦❦

  
"You do realise that you're never going to find someone if you keep sitting at the bar and giving off the 'keep away' aura," Pansy said, perching on the stool next to Draco. She signalled to the bartender, being sure to use flash her massive engagement and wedding ring to any woman who might be looking.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes and glanced over at the dance floor, willing something interesting to happen that would draw her attention away from him. Not that he didn't love Pansy dearly, because he did, but he really wasn't in the mood to talk about his marriage prospects. He'd already been through that ringer at least three times with his mother and he wasn't keen to do it again. Not when he'd just stood up with Theodore as best man in the very wedding that had resulted in him sitting with his hands curled around his third drink.   
  
He glanced over at Pansy in her slinky white gown.  
  
"Don't you have a bouquet to toss or something?" he asked, wishing his tone wasn't so grumpy. It was her day after all.   
  
She flipped her hair. "I'd rather be skinned alive than participate in some insipid muggle wedding tradition." She delicately grasped the stem of the wine glass that had been placed in front of her and sipped the golden liquid. "Unless you were looking to catch it, darling? Perhaps to be the next in line to tie the knot? I hear either one of the Greengrass sisters would happily take on the mantle of Mrs Malfoy."  
  
He held up two fingers to her as he sipped his drink. Pansy returned the rude gesture with a throaty laugh and returned to her new husband.  


❦❦❦❦❦

  
Hermione propped up a book and dipped her head down low to keep from being seen. She knew it was of little use, but she tried regardless and maybe this would be the one time that the owls would not find her. No such luck, however. Three exhausted owls made their way across the office, dragging the oversized bouquet of balloons between them. Irritated hoots filled the room. With a sigh she sat up and frowned at the delivery and the trio of irritated owls changed direction, heading towards her as they fought against the helium. Obviously a _Wheeze_ from George's shop, she watched as the birthday greetings scrolled across the surface of each balloon like a news ticker on the telly, frowning as the large 30 in flashing numbers was bigger than all the other words.  
  
Hermione glanced over to Susan who occupied the desk next to hers. "I'm going to end up in Azkaban for murder," she said.  
  
Susan giggled. "At least they remembered your birthday. Ernie and I have the same birthday and he forgot to even say anything..."  
  
"But the flashing number? They're dead. Both Ron and his brother. Harry too. He was probably in on it as well."  
  
Susan shrugged and reached for a quill. "It's not like thirty is so terrible in the grand scheme of things."  
  
Hermione flapped her hands at the owls and tied the ribbons of the balloons around a drawer handle. They (the balloons, not the owls) bobbed happily in place and she contemplated stabbing each one with the sharp nib of her fountain pen. Immensely satisfying as it might be, she had a sneaking suspicion that popping them would only create more chaos. That was definitely a mess that she didn't want to clean up.  
  
"Anything planned?" Susan leaned forward, her chin propped up by her hands.  
  
Shaking her head, Hermione reached for a parchment, writing a missive to the head of the International Magical Trading Standards Body. She didn't give Susan much more of an answer beyond that. She didn't like her birthday. She didn't like the reminder that her parents were on the other side of the world with no knowledge that they had a daughter who was celebrating her birthday. She didn't like the fuss. She didn't like the reminder of her unattached status among all her friends.  
  
It was just another day in another year.  
  
Just another day.  


❦❦❦❦❦

  
"Slim pickings, mate," Blaise said, tipping the glass in his hand and giving the firewhisky a disapproving sniff. "I don't know why you insist on dragging me here of all places. It's the _Leaky_. There are much more upscale places in _Rue Magique_. Definitely with a more refined class of witches than those you'll find here."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. Blaise was always trying to get him to hob-nob with the Parisian purebloods. It would, of course, please his mother and father if he did. Find a nice French witch. Settle down. Pop out a new generation of purebloods. All of that would be ideal for them. But that was the issue. What was ideal for them didn't work anymore and he had little interest pursuing that future. Being pure of blood made no difference anymore except to those who were clinging to old ways that were slowly vanishing.  
  
If his teenage self could see him now, Draco suspected he would be horrified.  
  
"If you don't want to stay and mingle with the unrefined, my delicate feelings won't be hurt," Draco said to Blaise, rising from the table. "I'm getting another drink."  
  
He left Blaise at the table and wove his way around the other patrons to get to the bar, knowing that his friend would not be at the table when he was finished. Draco's friendship with Blaise was a different animal in comparison to his friendship with Theodore or even Pansy. The latter two had been friends he had known long before Hogwarts and their dynamic was completely different. Much more like family. Blaise was, well, blasé about their relationship. When it benefitted him, they were friends. When it didn't, they were acquaintances. It worked out well because there was never any expectations or animosities.  
  
Signalling to Abbott behind the bar, Draco leaned on the counter, his foot resting on the bottom rung of one of the barstools.  
  
"She's been pulling pints for that group of Unspeakables for the last few minutes. It'll be a bit of a wait."  
  
Draco turned at the voice. He hadn't noticed Granger at the bar when he'd approached and judging by the slight blurring around the edges, he suspected she'd coated herself in a few repelling charms that had dropped partially when she'd spoken to him. He gave her a polite little nod before taking a seat. If he was going to have to wait for Abbott, he wasn't going to stand while he was doing it and it wasn't as if he was concerned about Granger pulling a wand on him.  
  
In the years since Voldemort, the active animosity between him and Potter had waned. Maybe it was because he still owed Potter a life debt for saving him from the Fiendfyre. Maybe it was just because they'd all grown up and now pushing thirty instead of eighteen meant that all those stupid reasons for disliking Gryffindors were just that. Maybe it was just that he was tired of being the stereotypical Pureblooded Slytherin who only valued blood status. It wasn't important anymore.  
  
Casting his eyes to the side, he noticed that Granger was reading something. The repelling charm was keeping him from actually reading over her shoulder, but he could see the book. However it wasn't the book that had truly caught his eye. Sitting next to her on the counter, shrunken down to something the size of a martini glass, was a set of colourful balloons. They bobbed almost happily, twisting and turning as people walked past.  
  
_HAPPIEST OF HAPPY BIRTHDAYS, HERMIONE! ENJOY YOUR 30TH!_  
  
The words scrolled over the tiny balloon and Draco tilted his head.  
  
"It's your birthday?"  
  
"It's my birthday," she replied flatly and flipped a page in her book.  
  
Draco glanced around the pub, half expecting to catch sight of Potter and Weasley. Except she didn't seem to be waiting for anyone and she didn't seem to be having a good time. If they randomly showed up, he wondered if they would even notice her at the bar, coated in charms as she was. He doubted it. His memory of the pair was that they had never been the most observant when it came to those of the feminine variety. Sure they were decent enough Aurors, but catching dark wizards used a skill set that had absolutely nothing to do with understanding women you were friends with.  
  
He turned and finally caught Abbott's attention, signalling for two drinks. But instead of taking them back to the table—a quick glanced confirmed his assumption that Blaise would leave, the table now taken by another more lively couple—he set one in front of Granger before touching the edge of his own glass against hers with a light clink. He wasn't sure where the gesture had come from and lord only knew he was well aware of the desire to avoid everyone on your birthday. However, there was something about the fact that she was sitting there by herself that spurred him to act.  
  
"I'll leave you to your evening," he said, turning to leave.  
  
"You can stay," she replied, looking at him and closing her book.   
  
She reached for the gifted drink and the blurred edges around her faded away as she dropped the charms. Draco hesitated for a moment because he wasn't sure if this was going to be the start of a long conversation about their pasts or an argument. He did not know Hermione Granger well enough to know where the conversation was headed. With Blaise, Theodore and Pansy it was easy. He'd known them since childhood in a different way than he'd known Potter or his friends. He knew when Pansy was upset with him. He knew when Theodore was excited about a new venture. He knew when Blaise was bored. Granted that was almost always for Blaise, but Draco could still tell the difference between true boredom and feigned boredom.  
  
Granger, however, had an honest sort of expression. There didn't seem to be any hidden agenda behind her raised eyebrows.  
  
So Draco sat. And signalled to Abbott for the bottle.  


❦❦❦❦❦

  
September mornings carried a hint of the cooler weather to come while still clinging to the remaining sunshine of the previous months. Draco figured that this would last another week before the doldrums of October and November would take over, bringing with them an endless grey that was the very definition of English weather. Not that he disliked it. He preferred the cooler temperatures over the scorching heat of July and August. If only he could keep the sunshine but not the heat. The downside, however, of the bright morning was waking up to it after a night of drinking. Especially a night of drinking firewhisky.  
  
With a groan, Draco sat up, fumbling on his bedside table for his wand and waving the curtains closed. He dropped the wand on the floor and then rubbed the space between his eyebrows, looking down at himself. He was unable to remember the last time he'd been so sauced that he couldn't remember coming home.  
  
Or undressing.  
  
Something shifted behind him.  
  
Or being unaware of the second person in the room.  
  
Sucking in a breath, he covered his eyes with one hand and searched his memories. Slowly the fog lifted and images of the previous night drew into sharper focus. The glasses of whisky. The conversation. Her genuine smile stirring something that he couldn't quite explain. Those damn birthday balloons. Her bare shoulder. The 'o' her mouth made. The curve of her hip.  
  
Draco was appalled. Not at the fact that it was Hermione Granger and, glancing over his shoulder at the bare leg that peeked out from under his duvet, not the fact that he'd _slept_ with Hermione Granger. He was appalled at himself. Since when was he the sort of man to engage in a one off? A drunken one-off at that!  
  
Taking a deep breath, he rose from the bed and headed to the ensuite. This was actually new territory for him. He wasn't a stranger to sex, of course. But intimate encounters with women usually came with weeks of previous encounters either by way of fancy dinners or lavish parties with the pureblood circles. Under the blast of hot water, he scrubbed his fingers through his hair and ran through a number of conversations. He felt very out of his element and pondered very briefly of contacting Blaise for advice, but quickly brushed it away when he realised just how much he would have to explain.  
  
Slipping into a bathrobe, he rubbed a towel over his head and returned to the bedroom.  
  
The empty bedroom.  
  
And something other than relief caught him in the pit of his stomach.  


❦❦❦❦❦

  
_You've had too much to drink, Granger.  
  
We've both had too much to drink, Malfoy. It's my birthday and I haven't had a decent shag in ages..._  
  
Hermione shook her head and filled out the rejection letter before stamping it with the department seal. The thump of the stamp must have been excessively exuberant because three coworkers looked up from their desks and over to hers. Her cheeks went warm and she set the stamp aside, placing the letter in her 'out' box before reaching for another file. She just needed more work. She just needed something to occupy her thoughts so she wouldn't keep thinking about that Friday night.  
  
Or the Saturday morning.  
  
Or the line of jaw.  
  
Or that little freckle between his collarbone and shoulder.  
  
Hermione ran her fingers through her hair and pressed her forehead against her desk. "Pull yourself together," she muttered at the floor.  
  
"Are you falling apart?" Susan asked from the desk across.  
  
"Might be," replied Hermione, drawing in a deep breath.   
  
She lifted her head and met Susan's eyes. The other woman gave her a quizzical look, but kept silent. Hermione knew what was happening. Susan had attempted to join the Aurors a few years back and went through some of the standard training before deciding that it wasn't the career choice she wanted. But interrogation techniques still lingered and that was exactly what she was trying to do. Let the silence linger so Hermione would feel compelled to talk.  
  
Ron had explained it once.  
  
She wasn't going to fall for it and the pair of them sat in silence for a good three minutes before Susan returned to her own paperwork. Hermione smiled, feeling a little better at having triumphed. That feeling went completely south when she glanced over to the door and saw a familiar person blocking the exit.  
  
Draco caught her glance and waved a small gesture at her, nodding toward the corridor. Hermione pressed her lips together, remaining in her chair and willing Susan to not turn around. She wanted to mouth 'go away' to him or send a flying memo at his head. Something to make him leave.  
  
His eyebrows lifted and he tilted his head and she hated that she could tell he was saying something to the effect of, 'if you don't come out here, I'm going to come to you."  
  
Resigned, Hermione got to her feet and picked up a bunch of files from her desk, holding them protectively against her chest as she skirted around the desks toward the exit. She did her best to ignore the attention she was now getting from everyone else in the office and squeezed past Draco, moving down the corridor at a pace that caused him to have to jog a little to keep up with her.  
  
"Granger wait," he said, trying to catch her arm.   
  
"Not _yet_ ," she almost hissed as she turned a corner. Thankfully room 307 was still unoccupied, having been left unassigned since Ulrich's retirement. With a cursory glance around the corridor, she turned and latched onto his arm, dragging him into the room. Once the door was closed and several severe locking charms were in place, Hermione wheeled on him.  
  
"What are you _doing_ here?" she demanded.  
  
"You refused the owls I sent," he said by way of an explanation.  
  
Hermione flushed and recalled the grumpy eagle owl that had shown up at her window a few times over the last week. She'd shooed it on its way and told it to take the letter back. Return to sender. Refused at delivery. It wasn't as if she had mistaken it for junk. She knew that the owl was his. She knew that the letters were his. What she didn't want was to read them and be reminded that it had all been a huge mistake.  
  
Now he was here to tell her that straight to her face.  
  
"Well, get on with it," she said, clutching the stack of folders tighter. "Make your demands of secrecy- by the by, I wasn't going to tell anyone- and be off. I know it was a huge error in drunken judgement. It won't happen again."  
  
"What if it did?"  
  
"Well, it's not. I'll stay far away from you and you won't have to worry about that at all."  
  
Draco let out a steady breath and stepped a little closer. Hermione suddenly felt like room 307 was far too small. No wonder Ulrich had retired early. How could he have stood this cramped space? There was no air. No room to breathe. She backed up against the wall, her fingers starting to ache from holding the folders too tight.  
  
"Is this just a way to get back at me?" she asked, looking at him. "Aren't we a little old for childhood intimidation?"  
  
"It isn't."  
  
"Then what is it?"  
  
"I think we should get married."  
  
All the folders from her arms dropped to the floor, parchments and proposals scattering around her feet. Of all the things she had expected to come out of that mouth of his, this hadn't even been in the realm of possible options. Hermione stared at him, feeling very much like a codfish with her mouth hanging open. A single thought popped into her head and she started to laugh. A high pitched and rather hysterical kind of laugh that was only reserved for when she was nervous.  
  
"Wait, is this some kind of noble pureblood thing? Deflower the damsel then wed her to save her honour? Because if that's the case I can assure you that this damsel was distinctly lacking in... flower."  
  
It was Draco's turn to flush. She took a small bit of satisfaction in the pink that now tinged his face.   
  
"No, not because of that."  
  
"Have you completely lost your mind then? I can recommend a good mediwitch in the Janus Thickey ward if that's the case."  
  
"It's because—"  
  
"I mean, I know the sex was decent. But I'm sure I didn't exactly shag your brains into pudding. Married... good lord."  
  
He gripped her shoulders and pressed her against the door. "Granger, will you just shut up for a moment."  
  
"Just proposed to me and is still calling me by my last name—" she muttered under her breath, only stopping when he squeezed her shoulders to get her attention.  
  
Her mouth snapped shut and she stared at the spot on his shoulder where she knew there was a freckle right beneath the fabric of his button down. Her pulse seemed to jump at the thought and she swallowed in an attempt to calm herself down. Why on earth was this sudden proximity affecting her like this? For heaven's sake!  
  
"I've had some time to think about this," he started. "I don't want to get roped into some pureblood arranged marriage and this is the perfect excuse. I marry you and that's that. My father will stop insisting on carrying on the pureblood line because Malfoy marriages are final. And we don't even have to like each other—my grandmother hated my grandfather until her last breath, but she still stayed with him."  
  
This time Hermione's mouth was open, but not in surprise. This time it was almost akin to horror. "You want to marry me as an excuse?"  
  
He let go of her shoulders and stepped back. "That's the simplified version of it, yes."  
  
"So that your father can't insist on blood purity..." A hot ball of anger seemed to roll around deep in Hermione's belly. "So this would be to defy your father?"  
  
At least Draco had the good sense to look sheepish once she'd started to ask her questions. Hermione drew in an angry breath and crouched down, reaching for scattered files and stuffing them into random folders. She was going to have to take extra time to sort this all out and focusing on something other than his face was helping to keep from exploding. Even so, she could feel the anger crackle over her skin. It had been a very long time since she'd experienced uncontrolled magic and she didn't think it was possible as an adult, but she was so close to just letting loose and causing some kind of damage.   
  
Preferably to him. And all of the bones in his body.  
  
"I'm not your revenge plan," she said, finally looking up at him. "If you want to defy your father and his notion of blood purity, then you're going to have to do it on your own." Her nose crinkled as she thought about it. "How dare you...."  
  
"It's not..."   
  
Draco ran his hands through his hair and Hermione frowned at the fact that it actually made her react and not in anger, but in attraction. She was furious with herself. How could she be both intensely angry and intensely attracted to someone at the same time? It wasn't fair at all.  
  
She put up her hand and then took out her wand. To his credit he took a cautious step backward. "It's better if you don't speak," she instructed, then turned around and undid all the charms on the door before leaving him behind.  


❦❦❦❦❦

  
Draco groaned, thumping his fist against the sofa cushion before he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Blaise looked at him, an amused smile on his face as he rolled the large ice sphere around in his glass before filling it again from the crystal bottle on the table at his elbow. Draco had spent the last hours lying face down on a chaise at Blaise's loft, grumbling at himself while his friend poured a drink that he hadn't touched.  
  
"Are you going to tell me what has led you to this state or do I have the pleasure of guessing?" Blaise smiled a toothy grin. "Keep in mind, my guesses will be ridiculous. Such as you shagged the Weasley girl and now she's up the duff and wants to keep it."  
  
Draco wished he could actually shoot daggers out of his eyes. It would solve so much of the troubles in his life if he could. Blaise tilted his head, stroking a finger along the lip of the glass. Why he chose Blaise's home over Theodore's, he wasn't quite sure. Maybe because Blaise was alone and Draco couldn't stomach the idea of having to explain himself to both Pansy and Theodore at the same time. Because he would have to explain. Pansy would never leave him alone if she knew there was something he was hiding.  
  
"Sod off," he said with a scowl. "That isn't what happened."  
  
Blaise lifted his eyebrows and leaned forward, elegantly leaning on his elbows, the glass tilting precariously in his hand. "But something did happen, didn't it? Something that involves shagging or you wouldn't be in such a state." He waved his hand at Draco in a 'just look at you' sort of gesture. "Not Weasley. Makes sense because she's mad about Potter as far as the papers have said. And even you wouldn't stoop so low as to flitter about with a muggle. Or a _Hufflepuff_..." He let out a dramatic shudder.  
  
Then his eyes went wide and he gave Draco a look.   
  
"Don't say it," Draco warned. "Don't even guess."  
  
"Am I right?"  
  
Draco folded his arms across his chest and felt the scowl deepen on his face. Blaise let out a low whistle and then a small cough that sounded terribly close to a laugh.   
  
"That's a quagmire that I would have never expected you to be stuck in, mate." Blaise got to his feet and snatched up the bottle of whiskey, leaning over to fill the glass that Draco had unceremoniously left sitting on the marble floor.  
  
"It's worse than a quagmire," Draco looked at the glass, irritated at the drink because he was certain that this was the reason for all of his problems.  
  
"How worse?"  
  
"Much," Draco took a breath and stared at the amber liquid, not wanting to admit that there might actually be feelings involved.  


❦❦❦❦❦

  
"Please stop," Hermione begged the owl when it showed up again at her window while she was pouring herself a bowl of cornflakes. "I hate having to turn you away. It's not fair. You know I don't want that letter."  
  
The eagle owl hooted and while Hermione knew it was silly to apply human emotions to an animal, it seemed almost angry at her for making the request. Ruffling its feathers, the owl dropped the letter and flapped its wings to blow it closer to her. Hermione let out a sigh. She knew the owl wasn't going to stop, no matter how much she pleaded and begged. Magical owls were a persistent breed to say the very least.  
  
"You're going to wait for a response, aren't you?" she asked, picking up the letter.  
  
The owl gave her a slow blink and clicked its beak a couple of times.  
  
Fine, she thought, cracking the wax seal (honestly, who uses a wax seal these days?), _One_ letter.  
  
That was what she'd told herself. One letter. Just one. Which had turned into two. Which had turned into three and then four and then more. At first it had been an apology and a lengthy explanation followed by another apology. And the apologies had turned to banter. Sometimes the letters were long and arrived at breakfast, taking the place of her morning paper. Sometimes they were just little memos that came to her office. It was alright, she'd told herself at first. They were just letters. She could manage letters. She could ignore letters—which she didn't since that first accepted one—and she could refuse to answer letters—also something she hadn't managed to do since she'd begun.  
  
Letters turned into coffee. Turned into lunch. Slowly it was turning into something else.  
  
Hermione gasped suddenly and looked up from the plate of turkey dinner she'd been prodding at. Everyone sitting at the Weasley Christmas table paused to look at her. Hermione felt her cheeks go red and she reached for her glass of wine, taking a long drink and trying to not think about what she was thinking about.  
  
It didn't work.  
  
Somehow she had become actual _friends_ with Draco Malfoy!  
  
"Alright, Hermione?" Harry said, his mouth full of turkey. The wild jester's hat that had exploded from his Christmas cracker sat crookedly on his head. Ginny reached over to tug back one of the belled points until it sat a little straighter. He swallowed his mouthful and gave Ginny a look before nudging the hat back into its previous position.  
  
Hermione shook her head and scooped a large helping of potatoes into her mouth. Unlike Harry, if her mouth was full, she didn't talk.  
  
Harry shrugged, reaching for his glass and standing. The chair made an awful scraping sound as he pushed it back, leaving him no need to clink his fork against the side of his glass. The group around the table went silent and curious looks were exchanged between a few. Hermione was surprised for the most part; Harry was not a huge fan of speeches. But then Ginny stood up and his posture relaxed. She'd always seemed to bring a sense of calm to him that Hermione had eventually come to realise that she could never get from Ron. They were good friends, but she suspected they would have been a terrible married couple.  
  
"Happy Christmas, everyone. Glad you could all make it." He glanced at Ginny. "Little disappointed that Ron isn't here, but I'm sure he's having fun in Sweden with Luna."  
  
"Hopefully he won't bungle the proposal and she'll make an honest man of the pillock," Charlie said, cupping his hands around his mouth and letting out a hoot.  
  
Hermione blinked and looked over at Ron's older brother. She hadn't realised that it had gotten so serious between him and Luna. The pair had been dating for only a few months, she'd thought. Looking at her plate, she thought for a moment. No, no... it had been the previous Christmas. It had been a whole year. She forced out a smile, not knowing why she was so uncomfortable all of a sudden.  
  
_Because you're alone,_ a little voice said in the back of her head.   
  
"—expecting. Due in June." Harry's voice cut through her thoughts only to be drowned out by the cheers from the table.  
  
Molly leapt to her feet and gathered both Harry and Ginny into an enormous hug while George pulled a spare cracker, sending confetti over the whole table and into everyone's drink. Hermione smiled and lifted her glass. A family was something that Harry had always wanted; she knew this. She'd known that a baby announcement was inevitable when she'd stood at Ginny's side at their wedding, watching her best friend get married.   
  
So Hermione stood. Hugged both Harry and Ginny. Kissed them both on their cheeks and gave them her heartfelt congratulations. She was excited for them. She truly was.  
  
The ache under her ribs had nothing to do with them. Absolutely nothing.  
  
So she didn't know why she was standing on the step of Draco's flat, an hour later, trying to blink back tears as she knocked on his door.  
  
"Why are you home?" she demanded when he finally appeared, sucking in a shaking breath. "It's Christmas."  
  
Draco gave her a confused look and glanced over at the number beside his door. "I can't be home at my own flat?"  
  
She planned to make some snippy comment back at him. Their 'friendship' seemed to be based on a lot of snippy comments back and forth, which she secretly sort of liked. But nothing seemed to want to come out and she didn't know if she liked the way he was looking at her or hated the way he was looking at her, but she didn't have anyone else to talk to. It wasn't like she could pull Harry aside and tell him about how she was feeling left out of all the relationship stuff, which was her own making. Wasn't she the one who'd ended it with Ron? It wasn't like she could tell Ginny about how she was feeling strange about not having children even though there was plenty of time to do so and it wasn't like having children was the only reason she existed, right?  
  
But no words came.   
  
Instead, despite being thirty years old and relatively in control of her life (she thought), Hermione burst into tears. It was all rather embarrassing because he didn't even have the good sense to just close the door in her face. Oh no. Instead he, Draco Malfoy, stepped across the threshold and put one arm around her shoulders and let her bury her face against his shirt until she cried herself out. It was utterly mortifying and unbelievably comforting at the same time. Especially when his hand pressed to her back and began to lightly pat in slow even beats.  
  
"I'm sorry," she gulped, still gripping his shirt, her forehead against the crook of his neck.  
  
"You should be," he replied. "Do you know how expensive this shirt is?"  
  
Her gaze snapped to his only to find a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth and a glint in his eyes. She swatted at his chest. "Consider yourself lucky, then, that I didn't blow my nose."  
  
"Eugh, Granger. That's disgusting," he said, but didn't push her away. He merely dropped his arm and gestured for her to come inside.  
  
But it wasn't a stiff drink that he brought once she was settled on his sofa. Instead it was a steaming cup of tea and despite her never having told him, he'd somehow manage to make it perfectly with just the right amount of milk and no sugar. Once he was seated, she didn't need any prompting. She told him about the dinner. She told him about Harry's announcement and learning about Ron's plans. Once she'd started, she couldn't seem to stop from telling him everything and her tea had gone cold by the time she finished.  
  
Hermione rubbed her jumper sleeve across her eyes and set down the cup. "I didn't mean to unload all of that on you," she said finally.  
  
"What's Christmas without expounding the worst qualities of your family to someone who will listen?" he asked, mirroring her motion of setting aside the abandoned tea. "Though I'm surprised at your choice. Usually this happens with—"  
  
"Friends. I know. I'm fairly certain that we're friends, Draco," Hermione said, interrupting him. "Shocking, isn't it?"  
  
"Quite." He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Friends..."  
  
She kept telling herself that it was just friendship. That's all it had to be between them. A new friendship that was entirely unfamiliar because they'd been at such odds while they were growing up. He'd said such awful things to her (since forgiven) and she'd been hurt by people in his house (also since forgiven). This new connection was just friendship.  
  
But he touched her hair in a way that was both familiar and not. And her thoughts went back to the haze of her birthday and what she could remember. Her breath hitched.  
  
It was just friendship.  
  
It had to be just friendship.  
  
Wasn't that what she wanted? Just friendship?  
  
Except she was fairly certain that friends didn't kiss the way Draco Malfoy was kissing her. Friends didn't pull each other into their laps the way he did. Friends didn't run their fingers through each other's hair the way that she was certain she was doing with his. Friends didn't do this. She was sure that friends didn't do this. She was sure that friends didn't touch each other like this or undress each other like this. Or make each other shiver and groan and call out each other's names like this.  
  
He ran his fingers up and down her bare back when it was over and Hermione found herself unable to think of a single thing.  
  
Except maybe that she wanted this a lot more than she was willing to admit.  


❦❦❦❦❦

  
Growing up, Draco couldn't remember any specific traditions that were carried out on New Year's day aside from one. He didn't recall the history behind it, but somehow crêpes were always on the morning table. It had, he'd been told once, something about prosperity and luck, and he felt particularly in need of both this day.   
  
Leaving the kitchen, and not wanting to think about the disastrous state he'd left it in, Draco carried the covered plate to his bedroom. He climbed onto the bed and balanced the plate of sugared crêpes on his lap, leaning over to nudge Hermione awake.  
  
She grumbled and pulled the blanket up over her head and Draco smiled.   
  
He'd never taken Hermione Granger to be anything but a morning person and yet there she was, completely proving him wrong. He nudged her again.  
  
"These are better when they're hot," he offered, fanning his hand across the plate to waft the smell toward her.  
  
"You should have held off making them then," she said, muffled from beneath the blanket.  
  
He waited and after a few moments she poked her head out, hair springing in every direction. There'd been a time when he'd thought that hair was an abomination with its own mind. It had blocked him from seeing the classroom chalkboard once and he'd missed a vital note from Professor Vector that had cost him marks on an exam. Now, however, it was hair that he quite enjoyed threading his fingers through, twisting the curls around his knuckles and occasionally holding perhaps a little tighter than he would like to admit to anyone.  
  
Hermione looked at him, expectantly. "Breakfast then?" she asked.  
  
Draco gave his head and thoughts a little shake before holding out the plate. "For luck."  
  
"Luck?"  
  
He shrugged a shoulder. "It's a French thing. Malfoys are originally French... so it was always a thing."  
  
"Hmm." She got to her knees, pulling a sheet around her upper body. "You have a lot of family traditions?"  
  
"Some." He pulled a piece from the top crêpe and pushed it into his mouth, licking the sugar from his finger. "This one is more... palatable, than others."  
  
Clamping the sheet beneath her arms, Hermione leaned forward and picked at one of the crêpes. She tore a bit off and rolled it into a tube before popping it into her mouth. She nodded and reached for another piece. Draco looked at her for a long moment, only just realizing that he could tell there were suddenly a number of thoughts running through her head and she was sorting through them to figure out what to say first.  
  
"You can say it," he said finally.  
  
"Say what?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.  
  
"Whatever you wanted to say about the traditions of a pureblood," he ate another piece of the crêpe and watched her.  
  
"I wasn't actually going to talk about that." She licked her thumb slowly. "There were just some thoughts that were churning around in my head."  
  
"Already? You were just grumbling complaints about getting up. I didn't think the churning of thoughts would happen until at _least_ noon," he smiled and let her take the plate when she reached for another piece of crêpe.  
  
She looked at the plate and picked a small bit of food. "Theoretical thoughts, mostly," she replied, flushing.  
  
Draco stretched out and propped his head up with one hand, watching her. "Your blush has me intrigued, Granger."  
  
She shifted, looking almost uncomfortable, and Draco considered just waving it off even if she did have his attention. This thing between them was new and he rather enjoyed having her in his bed too much to want to put a stop to it. He liked himself when he was with her, he'd discovered. She challenged him to think differently, and this little bubble they'd created where he didn't have to think about his parents or what others thought was more than refreshing. He wanted it to go on longer.  
  
"You don't have to—"  
  
"If I'd said yes to your idea, theoretically what would you have done?" she asked, cutting him off, the words tumbling out of her mouth so fast that he almost missed what she had said.   
  
"What idea?" he asked, furrowing his brow. She gave him a pointed look and he blinked. "Oh. That." Draco swallowed the thick lump that had suddenly formed in his mouth, turning onto his back and looking up at the ceiling. "You don't need to... It's not on the table... I didn't have that expectation with you here.... you know." He waved his hand.  
  
"Sleeping in your bed and having sex every night since Christmas?" she filled in.  
  
It was Draco's turn to flush.  
  
Hermione leaned back, setting the plate on the little table beside the bed. She then let the sheet drop and scooted across to where he was sprawled. Draco kept his eyes trained on the ceiling because he was certain that seeing her undressed coupled with her now straddling his hips would be his undoing. He was sure his flush was even stronger.  
  
"Grang... Hermione," he managed paying absolutely no attention to the hands that were now lightly skimming his chest.  
  
"It's mad," she admitted. "I know. But I keep thinking about it."  
  
Finally he looked at her. "I thought you didn't want to be my revenge plan," he said.  
  
She tilted her head, hair falling to one side. "Maybe I don't think it is one anymore."  


❦❦❦❦❦

  
So it seemed that the whole idea of secretly marrying Draco Malfoy was wild, Hermione had to admit. Explaining it to her friends? Even wilder. And perhaps a little terrifying. Which was why they agreed that it wasn't the best path to take. Not yet, at least. Perhaps after a few months of being together they'd realise it was folly. In any case, their friends and family had to get used to the idea of them even _seeing_ one another before they could possibly accept the idea of a marriage.  
  
Or, it seemed, a baby.  
  
Hermione stared down at the little plus sign on the chemist brand pregnancy test. She'd been feeling off for weeks and decided on a whim that she ought to just rule it out instead of ignoring it all together. However, it seemed that taking the little test had suddenly made everything a reality and now she wasn't exactly sure what to do with this new information. Her hand pressed to her stomach and she thought perhaps her lunch might make a second appearance.  
  
This hadn't been in the cards, had it?  
  
"Hermione Granger? Leaving _early_?" Susan teased from her desk as Hermione packed up a few things into her purse.  
  
"First time for everything," Hermione managed a smile.  
  
Susan held up her hands, thumbs to forefingers, framing Hermione. "Let me just commemorate this auspicious occasion with a mental image." She grinned. "I might never see it again."  
  
With a rueful shake of her head, Hermione bid Susan goodbye and hurried out of the office. At least she tried to hurry without looking like she was hurrying. It took less time than she'd thought to leave the Ministry and even less time to travel to Diagon Alley. Seated at an empty table outside of Fortescue's, Hermione swirled her wand and called up her little otter patronus, sending it with a message. She hoped it didn't sound too nervous.  
  
"You could have come inside and seen me in my office," Draco said, appearing next to her chair.  
  
Hermione jumped and pressed a hand to her heart as it skittered away in an almost violent pattern. "I don't know who you work with. And I didn't want the goblins talking."  
  
Draco gestured to the people milling about in the alley with a smile. "This isn't exactly private."  
  
"I thought it might be harder to just vanish from your office and I wanted to give you an easier escape route if you needed it," she said, feeling almost green and pushing the little plastic test across the table. He looked down at it and then up at her. She sucked in a breath. "I know it's muggle. Do I need to explain it to you at all?"  
  
"You don't. Surprisingly enough, I've learned a fair amount about muggle things over the years. Are you expecting me to pitch a fit?"  
  
Hermione bit the side of her lip. "I know it's a bit of a complication. Definitely wasn't part of 'theoretically what if I said yes to your proposal', now, was it?"  
  
He tilted his head. "Theoretically, if I was internally leaping with ecstatic joy would you be put off?"  
  
"Theoretically if I was terrified beyond belief, would you be?" she countered. She gestured to her torso.  
  
He put his hand on the table, covering the plastic test and pulling it towards himself. "I wouldn't. I'd understand, if that makes any difference at all. It's an enormous change that neither of us actually had the conversation about." He squared his shoulders and finally looked at her with an expression that held a sincerity that she'd never seen before, nor had been expecting. "I'm not going to make demands of you that I have no right to make, Hermione. I'm pretty sure I love you far too much to lose you over being a selfish arse."  
  
Hermione swallowed. "You... what?"  
  
He gave her a pointed look and then a smile. "It shouldn't be a surprise. In theory it was bound to have happened. Especially with you throwing around all the theoreticals about saying yes to proposals and secret marriage and whatnot."  
  
" _Me?_ " Her tone was incredulous. "You're the one who asked in the first place."  
  
"To which you gave a resounding no," he said, but his voice was teasing and she knew he was just trying to ease her mind and make her smile. It was what she needed.  
  
"Well," she scoffed halfheartedly. "It was terribly unromantic. What girl wants a proposal after a one off that she fully admits to sneaking away from in the morning?"  
  
Draco reached across the table and caught her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles and even though a few people glanced their way, Hermione realised that she didn't actually care who saw them. She also realised that he didn't care either because he wasn't looking at the other people who were looking at them. He was looking at her.  
  
"You did eventually come back."  
  
"I did," she said.  
  
"You kept coming back," he said, tucking the test into his jacket pocket before Hermione could protest about what may or may not be on it.  
  
"I did," she said. "Somewhere between the one-off, the strange proposal, whirlwind Christmas sex and theoreticals, I fell in love with you, Draco Malfoy." Her eyes met his and she let herself smile. "Funny how that worked out."  
  
He took her hand and clasped it in his own. She didn't have to look at it to know that he'd just pressed a ring to her palm, but she did wonder how long he'd been carrying it around with him. Her heart skipped a beat at the idea that it might have been for a lot longer than she'd actually realised.  
  
Somehow that didn't frighten her.  


❦❦❦❦❦

  
"I didn't think I'd find you here, of all places, in your condition," Draco said, sliding onto the barstool next to Pansy. He signalled to the bartender and waited for a drink to be poured.  
  
She turned and glared at him, her fingers curled around a glass of sparkling water and lime. "I'm going to let that comment slide since I did promise Theodore that I would behave myself and actually enjoy your wedding," she said with a haughty voice. "But seeing as my ankles are the size of melons and I haven't enjoyed a full bottle of wine or a large plate of sashimi in months, consider yourself lucky that I'm on my best behaviour."  
  
He nudged her knee with his. "You don't loathe me?"  
  
"Because you got Granger up the duff and then went through with marrying her?" Pansy shook her head. "You'd be surprised to know that I've actually grown beyond all those stupid petty declarations we made as children. If you love her, then that's that. I only ever want you to be happy. It's all you ever wished for me and Theodore."  
  
Pansy looked over to where Hermione stood chatting with Potter and his wife. Draco followed her gaze, feeling his heart thump a little faster as he watched Hermione sweep her hand over the gentle curve of her stomach as she talked. This whole idea of a wife and a baby within such a short span of time when only months ago it had not even been in the realm of possibility seemed to overwhelm him. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made him grateful that he'd ever been so lucky.  
  
And sure, in the back of his head, he still thought about the whole dissolution of the pureblood Malfoy line, but he found that even though he did think about it, he didn't care about it in the slightest. Marrying Hermione and having a baby with her was for him. It wasn't for his father. It certainly wasn't to appease his mother's call for grandchildren. It was for him.  
  
He loved her.  
  
He loved the baby growing inside her.  
  
No one else mattered.  
  
Funny how things turn out.  


❦❦❦❦❦

  
Hermione gave Harry and then Ginny each a kiss on the cheek, thanking them for coming before heading over to where Draco sat with a very heavily pregnant Pansy Parkinson-Nott. She let Draco pull her into his arms and when he rested his hand on her stomach, she placed an arm across it.  
  
Pansy hoisted herself off the chair and left her water on the counter. She then announced something about having to find her husband and make sure he wasn't out smoking those disgusting cigars with Blaise before disappearing (as best as one could do when they were carrying an extra tiny person around inside of them) into the crowd.  
  
"Seems we made out alright," she said, leaning her head back against his shoulder.  
  
"No threats by our friends or angry dissolutions of friendship due to siding with the enemy. I call this a successful start, yes."  
  
"Shockingly, I think we've all grown past the idea that any of us are the enemy."  
  
His fingers lightly tapped against her abdomen. "Just imagine what the next generation will think."  
  
"The one where Harry's son or daughter will be the exact same age as Pansy's son or daughter?" Hermione asked, looking over her shoulder at him.  
  
Draco's face went still. "That sounds... perhaps a little unnerving."  
  
Hermione pressed a kiss to his cheek. "And ours may very well be in the same year as Ron and Luna's." She gave him a cheeky grin when he blanched. "I'm pulling your leg. They're not..." She patted her hand against the one he had on her stomach.   
  
Draco let out a breath. "I think I saw my entire life flash before my eyes just then. I didn't take you for the black widow sort, Granger," he said. "That nearly killed me just then."  
  
She reached up and ruffled his hair.  
  
Less than a year ago she was sure that she wasn't going to have a typical family unit. So much had happened in such a short time that she wasn't sure if it was real sometimes. But in the end she decided that if this wasn't real, it was the best kind of 'not real' because it never seemed to end.  
  
And she really liked where it was going. 


End file.
